


Culinary Mishaps

by matsunoble



Category: The Hobbit RPF
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Dorks in Love, Established Relationship, Fluff and Humor, Food, Just all the fluff, Kisses, M/M, terrible puns
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-16
Updated: 2015-09-16
Packaged: 2018-04-21 02:33:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,638
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4811666
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/matsunoble/pseuds/matsunoble
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which the boys try to spend their downtime together in peace, culinary mishaps ensue and only chocolate ice cream can save the day.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Culinary Mishaps

**Author's Note:**

> Hi Hey Hello! I spent days reading richlee fanfics and I became really hooked because these two dorks are absolutely ridiculous and adorable. So I decided I'd give it a shot and contribute to the fandom! 
> 
> I would like to apologize beforehand for switching tenses a lot! And for the wonky choppy sentences. This isn't beta-read at all. All mistakes are mine. Lee and Richard belong to themselves.
> 
> This is unrepentant self-indulgent fluff so please enjoy! :3c

Richard had learned how to cook for himself out of necessity more than anything else. Having to live off of packet noodles and tea couldn’t have been healthy for anyone, especially full-time theatre students like himself. So he’d learned how to whip up a (relatively) nutritious meal from scratch.

It was nothing short of remarkable what stir-frying a few vegetables in the verge of turning could do to a pack of ramen noodles. It wasn’t exactly gourmet but it was all he could manage with the meager funds he had from jobbing around London to continue going to drama school.

That was, however, a distant memory now. Not exactly forgotten, no. Those memories would be stored in boxes at the back of his mind, kept under lock and key should he be needing a good ol’ dash of humility to nail him to the ground if his head grew too big.

What had started out as a necessity, a chore he needed to do lest he be mistaken for a traveling flagpole, slowly became a hobby. The smell and sound of minced garlic and onion sautéing in a pan a comfort after a long day pouring your heart and guts out on a particularly harrowing scene. Especially when he’d been thrusted headfirst into the dark and gruesome world of Francis Dolarhyde. The kitchen had been a refuge, the next best (and sensible) thing right after emptying that bottle of wine he’d had stashed somewhere in the suite.

With every ingredient he’d chop, the less tense his shoulders would be. And with every stir against the pan, the black clouds above his head would dissipate until it disappeared for good. The hearty meal ensuring that he’d at least have a dreamless sleep that night.

It was also a pleasant enough substitute when Lee had been away shooting Halt and Catch Fire.

And through the years, it had sort of evolved from cooking for himself to cooking for Lee. Or, to quote the aforementioned American: “using your sweet and charming boyfriend as a guinea pig for your evil and nefarious plans to brainwash the world through baked goods”.

Richard had been busy admiring the dab of icing on Lee’s nose to protest and to point out that evil and nefarious meant the same damn thing.

That had been his first foray into the world of baking. He had kneaded the dough for a minute too long that it had come out tough and difficult to swallow when he’d pulled it out of the oven.

And then he spent the entire afternoon thwarting bread pun after bread pun from Lee.

(“Rich, I really appreciate you taking great care of me. It’s a labor of love.”

“You’re welcome, swee-”

“Love is all you knead.”

“Oh dear.”

"And I promise to take good care of you, too. It’s the yeast I can do.”

“Lee, can I please rinse these tins in peace?”

“Aww, I was just loafin’ around, Rich!”

“Lee.”

“I guess you can start calling me butter right now because I am definitely… on a _roll_.”

“…”

“Are you a baker because your buns are – Err, uhm… Okay. Put that pan down, Rich.”

“I believe you are in a loaf or death situation right now.”

“You can’t take me, bread or alive!”

“Alright, _that’s it_. You’re _toast_ , Pace.”)

Richard chuckles unconsciously at the memory as he babysits the chicken curry currently bubbling away over the stove top.

“Okay,” rings expectedly from the living room, “ _Now,_ you’re making me very nervous! It never ends well when someone laughs over a steaming hot cauldron!”

Richard rolls his eyes. “Very FUNNY, Lee. Come here and taste this will you?”

“No! I refuse to be your guinea pig for much longer!” Lee yells dramatically and then in a more blank tone says, “Plus I’m reading through scripts.”

“Darling, you’ve been leafing through the same script for the past hour.”

“You don’t know that!”

Richard sighs and lowers the fire to allow the broth to simmer. He grabs a small saucer from the rack and scoops out a small portion of the dish.

Lee looks up from the script he isn’t even pretending to read anymore as Richard approaches. “What?”

Richard holds the tablespoon with a chunk of chicken and brown broth up to his lips and Lee leans back a teeny tiny bit, so subtle anyone wouldn’t have known better. But Richard does and the motion surely doesn’t escape him in the slightest.

Richard frowns. “It’s curry, Lee. Not lethal poisons.”

He raises a thick eyebrow at him. “That’s what _you_ want me to think. But I know better!”

Putting on his patented glare-pout combo Richard knows (and will never understand why) flusters Lee so much, pushes the spoon towards him again and Lee leans further back, his back pressing to the back of the couch.

“Lee, it’s just a tiny bite, it won’t hurt anyone.”

He frowns down at the spoon, eyes crossing comically as he tries to track the movement of the _extremely dangerous_ eating utensil he was being threatened with.

“That’s just it, Rich. I’m not just anybody, I’m delicate!” He mumbles, trying not to open his mouth too wide in case Richard gets any ideas.

Richard just rolls his eyes and swats at Lee’s arm with his free hand. “Delicate, my arse.”

“Oh, I know your butt’s delicate, darling. I’ve-”

Richard shoves the spoon in his mouth before he can say more embarrassing things.

Richard withdraws the spoon from his mouth when Lee tips his head back and watches him patiently as he chews, slowly at first - warily, even- before he chews with gusto and eventually swallows.

Richard scoffs at the poker face Lee pulls immediately after. “See? I don’t know why you always have to make such a fuss every time.” 

“Hmmm, ‘s spicy.” He says, licking his lips. “‘Guess it ain’t too bad.”

“You mean it’s downright phenomenal!”

“I’m sorry to burst your metaphorical bubble Rich but your cooking isn’t that high up the culinary ladder yet.”

Richard frowns down at his smug little face, “Oh? Well, how high up is it?”

He pretends to think about this for a moment, pursing his lips in a straight line and scrunching up his nose in a way that makes Richard want to kiss it. But that thought immediately vanishes because Lee opens his mouth and says: “Probably between ‘Oh that was pretty decent’ and ‘Huh, I’m alive’.”

Richard sniffs petulantly, almost like a displeased cat. “Well, see if I make anything for you ever again you ungrateful sod.” He turns to leave, chin high in the air.

Lee breaks his poker face with a bright laugh, eyes twinkling when grabs Richard around the waist and tries to pull him down on top of him.

Well, _ha_ , too bad for him! No one insults Richard and his cooking and gets cuddle-wrestles in an extremely comfortable-looking couch! Not even Lee Pace and his cute nose and- Oh what the hell. “Budge off!” he yells as he struggles out of his grip.

“Nuh-uh,” Lee tugs hard and he finally manages to tip the struggling Englishman over the couch’s armrest. He wraps his arms tightly around his waist and nuzzles his neck. “Do you mind if I got more, though?”

Richard can’t help it. He laughs as Lee’s breath tickles his sensitive skin. He gingerly turns around on his lap (there was only enough maneuvering two 6 foot men could do without accidentally throwing one off the couch) and wraps his arms around the American’s neck, but not without intentionally smacking his face with the spoon still in his hand. “Well gee, Mister Pace, if you sweep me off my feet likes this, how could I possibly say no?”

Lee wiggles his eyebrows. “That’s right, baby. You can’t say no to your hot stud muffin.”

“Th- That just took a quick swerve into the pit of unsexy, you poopyhead.”

“Poopyhead.” He quotes, “Damn, Richard you sure do know how to make a man feel special.”

“Oh I try mighty hard, love.” Richard coos and Lee’s nose does the thing again, “Especially when in company of affection-starved, ridiculous Texan men with irresistible eyebrows.”

Lee pouts, “You wound me. Kiss it better.”

Richard rolls his eyes. “You really like to say things that prove my point, huh?”

Lee opens his mouth to reply but stiffens in his seat and one hand lifts to take a grab at his neck before it stops half way through.

“Lee?” Richard asks, leaning as far away from him without removing his hands from the back of Lee’s neck so he can see the look of pure terror on the American’s face as he coughs into a white-knuckled fist.

“Rich…” he croaks.

“Yes?”

He sucks in a huge gasp of air and coughs.

Richard rolls his eyes. “Here we go again.”

Lee maneuvers him away from his lap and unceremoniously drops to the floor wheezing and Richard is perfectly fine letting Lee be the drama queen he likes to be half the time.

“Rich, holy fuckin’ shit.”

“Lee please, it’s not that awful.” And Richard is well acquainted with Lee’s bullshit to know it really isn’t. Lee had inhaled a whole pot of stew he had deemed “just nasty and you want your folks to eat this?” and had vehemently blamed it on the dogs once.

“Rich,” he coughs and continues to flop around like a fish out of water, “I’m dying. 911. SOS.”

“Let me guess: too much cumin for you? Turmeric powder?”

“You know damn well it’s not the cumin, Rich, _cough_ oh my god, and it’s not the turmeric powder either, that shit’s for food dyeing. Get it? Dying? As in help me, holy shit.”

Richard cheerfully ignores him.

When Lee doesn’t do his usual dramatic monologue of “how could you serve me a tossup of charcoal, mushy vegetables and questionable meat, Rich! You’re making Food Jesus cry!” and instead continues to claw at their plush carpet for dear life, Richard goes from “mortally offended” to “mildly concerned”.

“Lee?” Richard only notices then that Lee is a very alarming shade of red and he hurriedly drops to his knees, heedless of the pain that zaps straight to his spine.

Lee sits up from his prone position on the floor and begins the commendable feat of blowing air on his tongue, the tears in his eyes not going unnoticed to Richard who was trying very hard to swallow the bubble of panic creeping up his throat.

“Lee, oh my god, what’s wrong?”

A wide hand blindly gropes around for purchase against Richard’s shoulder and Richard grabs it, pulling Lee forward to face him as a prompt to tell him what’s wrong before Richard unnecessarily calls 911.

“What,” Lee says, only it sounds more like he’s saying ‘wath’ in an effort not to reignite the forest fire that was currently laying waste to his tongue, “did you put in that curry to make it so damn spicy, holy shit.”

The ‘Oh shit’ was unconcealed on Richard’s face. “I’m getting the milk, wait here.” He says and practically stumbles over the coffee table to try and get to the kitchen in record time.

“MY TONGUE IS ON FIRE.”

“Stop talking, you’ll only make it worse!” Richard admonishes as he returns to the living room, passing the tall jug of milk to Lee and setting a box of tissues on the table.

Lee chugs the milk down like a pro, prompting another frantic “Don’t drink too fast you’ll make yourself sick!” from Richard who is very aware of how much he sounds like his mum right now.

Lee gasps as he slams the milk on the coffee table, teary-eyed and sweaty. “Ow, ow, ow, ow, ow oh my god ow.”

“Are, oh my god Lee, are you alright?” Richard asks as he dabs at Lee’s face with a towel, feeling absolutely miserable.

Lee nods, doing quick inhales through his mouth to soothe his screaming gums. “My ears hurt and I think there’s snot on my face.”

Richard obliges by wiping it away.

“Did I cry? I think I cried.”

“You’re very red, Lee.”

Lee downs another gulp of milk.

“Lee, I’m so sorry.” Richard says, voice soft, as he squeezes Lee’s hand in his before taking the mug of milk from Lee when he narrowly misses the coffee table.

“It’s really not that bad,” Lee says even though his nose runs again. “I just wasn’t expecting it to kick in like that.” He hiccups.

Richard fondly wipes his nose for him. “There’s chocolate ice cream in the fridge.”

“Rich, _sniff_ , you are God right now, my Lord and savior.”

Richard chuckles, adrenaline leaving his bloodstream and opening up to an onslaught of guilt and a determination to make it up to Lee somehow. He takes a moment to grab the tub of his prized chocolate ice cream, a bottle of water and two spoons.

When he returns to the living room, Lee has gathered his scripts into a neat pile at one corner of the coffee table and was back on the couch, leaning his back against an armrest and his legs across the cushions.

Richard gingerly sits on the leftover space next to Lee’s stomach and wordlessly hands him a spoon.

Lee raises an eyebrow. “Was this all part of your plan to undermine our “No Ice Cream until dinnertime” agreement?”

“What?” This successfully distracts Richard from beating himself up over this, “No!” and if he doesn’t quite manage to rid the offense off his voice he doesn’t care.

“Because we really got to watch our blood sugar levels, Rich.” Lee drawls as he scoops ice cream right out of the tub.

“Lee you know I wouldn’t do that to you.”

When Lee manages to successfully eat the treat without making a mess on himself and/or the couch cushions he flat out moans and says, “Yeah, I know. I was just kidding.”

Happy to hear that, Richard doesn’t wait for Lee to finish scooping out his next spoonful and inadvertently starts a spoon/light saber battle over it.

Lee sinks to the couch as he smacks his lips together, having a good 5 ladles of ice cream in him already. “That’s much better.”

“Really, Lee. I wasn’t- I didn’t know it would be that spicy, I’m sorry.”

“Hey, no.” Lee sits up and plants a sticky kiss to Richard’s cheek. “Honestly, it wasn’t that bad.”

“Lee you were crying.”

“Was not!” He asserts but only to ruin it when he sniffs and petulantly stuffs his face with more ice cream. “Just warn me next time?”

“I promise to warn you the next time I try to assassinate you via spiced meats.”

Lee laughs. “I’d really appreciate that but I would appreciate it more if you get down here and kiss me.”

Richard grins around his next spoonful of chocolatey goodness. “Hmm, I suppose. I mean, if it makes you feel any better?”

“Oh, loads better.” Lee says and then points to the tub Richard placed on the coffee table. “I’m afraid this ice cream isn’t sweet enough for me.”

Richard tips his head back and laughs before you dips down and hovers just above Lee’s dopey smiley face. “Just so you know, that line was absolutely dreadful and don’t for one second think that that worked on me you twat.”

“But you’re going to give me a kiss anyway because I’m absolutely adorable.” Lee says as he makes himself comfortable on the cushions.

“That is true,” Richard concedes and returns the wide grin when Lee flushes red underneath him, “but also because you’re a dork and I love you very much.”

“Aw shucks.”

Richard happily closes the space between them and they spend the rest of the late afternoon sharing chocolate-flavored kisses.


End file.
